


My Life Is Very Lonely (For I Want You Only)

by CBlue



Series: Crowley's Pining Playlist [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 1924, Angst, F/M, I never thought I would tag actual people who have been dead for 30 years as a ship, Inspired by Fanart, Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Prompt Fill, Yeah I do mean that Berlin and that Milne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 15:10:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CBlue/pseuds/CBlue
Summary: Her dress hung loosely over her dusty frame. The emerald dress was like drapes covering a tapestry, and that was the objective opinion of a happily taken man. Serpents of temptation fell from her ears like rainwater, and red flaming hair lit her face brighter than any of the held torches.“Ain’t she just gorgeous, Dot?” One girl drawled, accent a honey-laced spell. Must have been a south bird flown upwards.Dot pondered aloud, tapping her finger to her chin. “She looks so lonely, don’t she?”





	My Life Is Very Lonely (For I Want You Only)

**Author's Note:**

> I was requested to write more "Emerald Dress Crowley" after writing a snippet inspired by this gorgeous art on Tumblr: https://lilianriekeart.tumblr.com/post/187783173353/shes-beautiful-isnt-she-that-lady-over-there. I spent way too much time research this fic for it being as small as it is.

The music was low and the smoke was high. Gaspers lit across the room like small torches lighting a pathway. Pelham Cafe used to be ragged from that uncrowned prince of Chinatown, but that never stopped Israel from returning to the beloved place. Even after Mr. Salter’s death, the smoke still clung to the lungs of the place. It could be grunge at times, but it reminded him of home. Helped him focus.

He never needed inspiration. It was always the result of work that equaled his success. But that did not keep him from returning to his small roots, settling himself into his bones again, and refreshing himself so that he could return to work. Israel knew to recognize where he was from, and having something familiar soothed his aching heart as he longed for his bearcat Ellin.

His eyes roamed over the cafe, some unfamiliar and poor boy mercilessly beating those pearls to howl a tune like an alley cat. Israel grimaced as he took a swig of his drink. He remembered those keys like an old love, a first love. And he had known two first loves in his life, hadn’t he?

The people were the same despite the years since his heels had licked at these floors. He liked the people watching, though. Liked being able to see their stories. Stories he could relate to or hear in song. It helped him work. Not inspiration, _per se_, but a growing awareness of emotions beyond himself.

Following the trail of smoke, Israel’s eyes lead him to a real Sheba. Her dress hung loosely over her dusty frame. The emerald dress was like drapes covering a tapestry, and that was the objective opinion of a happily taken man. Serpents of temptation fell from her ears like rainwater, and red flaming hair lit her face brighter than any of the held torches.

She was gorgeous, and well put together. Israel knew his onions, and there was no way that dame was here for noodle tea or those lazily slapped keys. Shadows danced across her face, mirroring the partners who had long since pushed chairs aside to dance to whatever the young man was puttering out. Israel watched her, drink long forgotten.

Those downcast eyes sang more blues than his fingers could ever write. What had broken that poor girl’s heart? It reminded him of his own heartbreak, an old song never forgotten, lost painting features in bittersweet familiarity. He could hear the girls next to him talking, ragging on about the gal in green. Who else could they be speaking about? Whose complexion was a starry night and whose eyes were a storm?

“Ain’t she just gorgeous, Dot?” One girl drawled, accent a honey-laced spell. Must have been a south bird flown upwards.

“Oh, just lush.” Dot cooed. “She waitin’ for someone, ya think?” The second girl’s blue eyes batted innocently as she gossiped.

The first girl nodded, smacking her lips from her drink. “Gotta be. Ain’t a dame like that lookin’ for anyone.”

“I dunno, Milly.” Dot pondered aloud, tapping her finger to her chin. “She looks so lonely, don’t she?”

This time it was the bartender, a fairly young man who Israel knew to be named Edward, who spoke up. Eddie cleaned at a glass in his hand as he leaned over the bar. “She’s been comin’ in once a week, that broad.” He commented.

The girls looked to Eddie with wide eyes, and Israel could not help but watch. Watching was what he did. And while his own heart was singing tunes about his lady love, it was nice to escape his pining and invest himself into strangers. Stories, after all, were practically his trade.

“Really?” Dot peered over as subtle as a young bird could. “What’s her name?”

Eddie looked to the two of them, and then to the Medusa who seemed to turn any gaze to stone. Even as the tune picked up and then slowed, no hand would she accept. She would just stare at her drink, waiting for whatever man who didn’t seem to be showing any time soon.

“That’s ol’ Toni.” Eddie spoke softly, a tone befitting of the smoky room and soft playing piano.

This was when Israel could not help but join their small conversation. “Ol’ Toni?” He began, “not the Red Terror Toni?” He whispered as not to be heard over the gentle keys.

Eddie smiled brightly. “Yeah, Mr. Izzy. The one and the same. Used to run with Mr. Salter they say.”

Israel looked back to the mysterious demon. For surely she was some sharp monster meant to ensnare men between her viper fangs. He had recognized her from long ago, sitting beside a mobster and whispering into his ear. He could remember it like it was yesterday.

Painted lips had smirked listening to Izzy sing as the Professor trickled his fingers across the keys like the piano was another limb. Those devilish eyes, golden and molting, had kept his gaze as she had leaned over to Mr. Salter. Israel would never know her exact words, but he would know she had flashed her leg sensually and gave a charming wink. Mr. Salter had taken her word for a few clever business tricks, so they had said. Never to the man’s face, but they had said.

She didn’t look a day older. Not two years ago did Israel attend Mr. Salter’s funeral and now here his temptress was, not a day older, looking not the bit of prideful poise that the young singer had known. Salter had died at the age of half a century, and Miss Toni looked like she hadn’t changed since that first time she walked through the Pelham’s door. Though her demeanor was definitely more befitting of a widow or puppy-love broke heart.

“She ain’t aged a day.” He whispered in awe, smoke rising from his eyes and gaze clearly staring at her. Her golden stare stayed locked to her drink. She sat in that provocative way of hers, ankles on full display as she propped up that long leg of hers. Israel could remember those scorching eyes so often hid by stylish shades haunting his dreams. He wondered if she removed her glasses so often because of the smoke in here. Maybe it hid what she wanted to keep hid. She liked her shadows.

“Always orders two drinks. Never touches neither of them.” Eddie explained, setting the glass down that really deserved no other attention. “Always got that package too.”

“It’s a book, innit?” Milly inquired, nearly rising from her seat to look until Dot held her back.

Dot furrowed her brow. “And how would you know if it was a book when it’s all packaged up?” She huffed at her companion.

Crossing her arms across her chest, Milly gave a huff of her own. Her bangs gave the beat of a dove’s wings for a moment to frame her face. “Looks like when I get books from that shop. They wrap it all nice for me.”

“Might be a book.” Eddie nodded as he leaned his elbows on the counter, whispering as the pianist changed his sheet music and left the room in silence. “Saw the name on it once. Got returned to her, I think.”

“Someone returned a book to her?” Dot gaped for a moment. “Why was she sendin’ books anyway?”

Israel took to looking at Miss Toni again. He couldn’t remember her looking so sad in his hazy memories. So much had happened since the last he saw her. He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t attend Mr. Salter’s funeral, but now he suspected another reason. Miss Toni seemed like the type to move on to bigger and brighter things, and when Mr. Salter was done with being useful to her, the woman must have moved on.

Well, that was the face of not moving on. Israel knew it all too well. Saw it every time his heart sang the name of his Dorothy. He had long since lost her, and the look in Miss Toni’s eyes, dimming that burning soul, said she had felt that lost too. She was all alone now.

“Marked to some business in a Soho or something. Think she was tryin’ to sell a copy o’ somethin’?” Eddie finally offered as the girls watched Miss Toni with wide eyes.

Milly shook her head, nearly spilling her drink. “Why would she send a book all the way to London?”

“And why’d you know Soho is in London?” Dot blinked in surprise, seeming to learn something new about her companion the further their conversation continued.

Milly held her head high, smirking in a way that was too clever for her own good. “I’m well educated on those foreign places.”

Their conversation became a bit of bickering as Eddie turned to continue his work. Israel felt his fingers twitch as the urge to write came upon him. He needed to work, felt the not-inspiration flow through him. The way smoke was Miss Toni’s only companion. The way the setting sun hit her eyes and was the only light there. How she could lay herself out in open invitation and yet no one seemed more a cold shoulder.

She was waiting for someone who would never come. Israel knew that. But something made him stand up, stool skidding across the floor as his feet moved across the floor. No sooner did he take two steps then did Miss Toni avert her gaze from her glass and pick up the package. She unwrapped it, revealing what proved Milly correct. A book, small but new, bound as she unveiled it from its brown packaging.

Israel watched as Miss Toni’s mouth quirked. It was not quite a smile, but something fond returned to her eyes. Fond was not an expression he had ever seen on Miss Toni. But he found himself feeling grateful to whatever angel looked down on her and permitted her that happiness. It made his own heart feel lighter, his own want hurt less and the distance between himself and Ellin seem less far.

Miss Toni stood, limbs uncoiling from her perch as she dragged herself like a cigarette. She drew attention, she always did. Fiery hair laying against her emerald dress as she sauntered with the book in hand toward the bar. Israel stood there, watching as Eddie came up to address her.

“Can I help you, Miss Toni?” He smiled politely, and a bit genuinely. It seemed, after all, that Miss Toni was a loyal patron.

She gave that smile of hers that Israel did recognize. He knew it from that time she had leaned into him, shaking his hand with congratulations. “You’ve got that kid on the way, yeah?” Her slender hand held out that coveted book and Israel could feel the eyes on that book, the wish to be that spine in her hands. Even if her fangs would tear them asunder, he could feel the men and women wanting to know this woman, this sad-eyed beauty of unspeakable etherealness.

Eddie blinked in surprise, looking down at the book. “Oh, uh, that I do. Miss Toni…?”

“Think of it as doing me a favor, love.” Her words rolled across her tongue like a well-loved song and dance. “You’ll need the lullabies.”

Eddie took the book gently, admiring the title. “ _ ‘When We Were Very Young’  _ by A. A. Milne?” He furrowed his brow. “Ain’t this that book by that fancy Brit?”

She grinned, snakish and full as she laughed. “Dear old Alan needs all the help he can get endorsing that old thing.” Her eye winked, and suddenly she was not without those stylish shades that Israel recognized her for.

And just when Israel was certain that she was turning to make her leave, the Medusa of Pelham turned to face him fully. His reflection in her glasses was almost intimidating, and he felt like a waiter singing in front of a murderous mobster again.

“Miss Antonie.” He greeted her with a bow of his head.

“Izzy,” Her serpentine grin stretched dangerously across her face, and Israel was once again reminded that this was not a frail woman. Despite her broken and wanting state prior, she was still the notorious Red Terror. “Or do you just go by Irving now?”

Israel chuckled, feeling tension ease out of his shoulders even if he did not know why. “You can always call me Izzy, Miss Toni.”

That familiarity must have bled into the woman herself. Her own sharp features seemed softer, her height less looming. Tall woman that she was seemed to shadow and creep along the cafe. “How have you been, Izzy?”

“Good,” Israel nodded. “Better than I’ve been in a while.” And perhaps it was something in his tone that gave him away. Even behind her shield, Israel could tell that those gold eyes had dimmed.

“That’s good.” She nodded with him, softly, softer than smoke she spoke. “Give your girl my hellos.”

Just as Miss Toni turned, a haunting melody poured from the piano and Israel cursed it. Cursed every familiar note that he had written. It froze them both in their steps as the piano sang about lost that was too intimate, too exposed, but too known by both of them.

“Who was it, Miss Toni?” Israel found himself asking. “Who was it that you lost?”

Miss Toni wouldn’t turn to face him. Too stubborn, too prideful, or too scared. Israel had felt all those things too. Her voice wobbled and shook like virgin lungs inhaling their first smoke in this dusty corner of the world. “My angel,” she confessed like a secret.

“How long ago was it?” Israel found himself asking, dragging himself into a conversation that even he could hardly bear. “It’s… been twenty-two years for me.”

At this, Miss Toni laughed. Perhaps someone else would have been insulted. But despite no clear memory of the woman, Israel felt he knew she did not mean it. She meant it for herself. As if twenty-two years was not a lifetime to her, as if there had been three more eternities without her angel.

“Too long,” she eventually answered. “Have a nice night, Israel.”

Words escaped Israel as Miss Toni spared him one last glance. Her hips, sinuous in their movements and the constant center of attention, sauntered her tall and dusty frame out the door of the old cafe. Israel felt a piece of him go with her, a piece of sympathy. Whatever angel had shielded that poor woman from the world had left her now, left her to the cold and harsh reality that they faced in life without them.

Milly and Dot turned to face Israel, eyes wide and mouths gaping. “You’re not _Irving Berlin_, are you?” Milly asked breathlessly.

“Milly, how the_ h-_” Dot began before Milly cut her off.

“I love all your songs so much!” She cooed as the soft notes of  _ When I Lost You _ continued. “Would you play us a tune? Please?”

Israel looked to the piano, and then to the door. His eyes made their way back to two young women, full of hope and naivety not yet broken. Eyes steeling over with determination, Israel made his way over to the piano. “One song, and then I’ve got some work to do.”

Israel would later return home and write another ode to his love. He would dedicate  _ All Alone  _ to his Ellin, but he would always have another woman in mind. A woman with sad eyes in a smoky room. A woman whose devilish grace did not befit the mortal chair she perched on. A woman who was waiting for her angel. It was not an inspiration. Irving never wrote off of inspiration.

...except perhaps, this one time.

The first edition of A. A. Milne’s  _ When We Were Much Younger  _ would go to a loving home. Eddie would be confused by the dedication, wonder how many famous shoulders Miss Toni bumped with to have Milne’s autographed dedication. Milly would find Miss Toni’s discarded package and wonder what made A. Z. Fell and Co. such a special bookshop. Dot would ponder about returned gifts, and perhaps it was a scorned woman.

Miss Antonie was not a woman scorned. Everyone would have their theories, but only Israel’s would be the closest. Miss Toni would still return once a week, ordering two drinks and never touching them, waiting for a dance with the angel that would never come.


End file.
